


Better Than a Phone Call

by Novachester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Grace Kink, Grace Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:01:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Novachester/pseuds/Novachester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's always hard being away from those you love, but Castiel's found a way to make that distance feel a little less... distant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than a Phone Call

It’s just a faint tickle at first, a warm touch to the back of Dean’s neck. He scratches at it without thinking, resumes his reading when the sensation goes away. He doesn’t get the chance to read very often, but when he does, he likes to devour the materials.  
  
Currently? Game of Thrones. He can’t help but missing Charlie, off on her own crazy adventure in  _Oz_ , and small things like this help to ease that ache.  
  
He misses a lot of people these days.  
  
The sensation returns, this time lower, a warmth that licks its way mysteriously down Dean’s spine, beneath his shirt. He startles, looking around and behind himself, under his arm. Nothing.  
  
The warmth trails down further, tickles against his side and finds his belly, dancing like… fingertips. It’s familiar, the pattern and pressure of it. Even the air changes, the scent of it, it’s…  
  
Dean’s eyes widen, then narrow suspiciously.  
  
"Cas?"  
  
 _Hello, Dean._  
  
It’s not a physical voice that Dean hears, more like a brush of consciousness against his mind, the meaning clear, like words he’d heard spoken once before and is now recalling. “Dude, where are you?” He asks, scratching at his stomach where the phantom sensation continues to tickle.  
  
 _Tulsa, trailing a lead._ Dean hears in response. _I was thinking of you, and it’s… irritating, not having my wings. I decided this would be the next best thing.  
  
_ "The next best thing is ghost groping me? Do I _look_ like Demi Moore to you?” Dean asks, rolling his eyes. He feels like a crazy person, talking to open air, but he’s not 100% sure how this angel line works, so he’ll deal. “I know you know how to use a phone, Cas.”  
  
 _Yes, but I can’t do_ ** _this_** _with a_ _phone,_ _can_ _I?_ Castiel asks, and before Dean can ask what “this” is, there’s something warm engulfing his crotch and squeezing, yanking a gasp from him.  
  
"Holy _fuck,_ " Dean breathes, leaning back in his chair. "You kinky son of a bitch," he says, but it’s not a protest. Especially not with the way his legs spread. "This is what they call an abuse of power."  
  
 _Not my worst,_ Castiel retorts, and Dean can hear the smug smile in his stupid voice, echoing around in his head. He lets out a breath when the pressure shifts, sliding back up his body, gliding along his sternum, splitting off and licking at his nipples. _Where are you?_  
  
"What, Mister Omnipotent can’t see me?"  
  
 _No, I see **only** you. I feel you, your form, your pleasure,_ Cas replies, punctuating the sentence with a twist of what Dean is guessing is some kind of extension of his grace, pulling on his nipples and igniting a spark of heat in Dean’s stomach. _But I don’t see around you as I would with human eyes. I’m focused entirely on you._ __  
  
"St-study room," Dean manages to say, head tipping back as he grips the arms of the chair.  
  
Castiel’s chuckle rumbles against the edges of Dean’s consciousness. _Alone?_ He asks, but it doesn’t stop him from traversing back down, swirling warm pressure in slow spirals until Dean’s rocking up into that phantom warmth, cock pulsing, filling out as Castiel continues to tease him with an ethereal touch.  
  
"Yeah, you dick, I’m alone," Dean grunts, rolling his grip on the chair arms. "Really think I’m gonna have Ghost sex with you while Sam’s ha—" Dean’s cut short by a quivering touch to his ass, two phantom palms spreading his cheeks. "Cas," Dean all but growls, hissing on the S of his name.  
  
 _That’s my name_ , Castiel confirms, and Dean’s really starting to hate that self-satisfied tone Cas is picking up more and more each day. Dean feels Cas slide the touch alone his hole, teasing slow circles around his rim.  
  
Dean can’t pin the consistency of the touch, whether it’s like a waft of smoke or something liquid, but his mind goes blank when he feels it pushing in, twisting and sliding deeper. “You fucker,” Dean pants, grinding down in the chair, hating that it doesn’t get him anywhere.  
  
Cas is in complete control here, deciding exactly how much Dean gets, what he gets, and all Dean can do it wait and take it.  
  
 _Your fucker_ , Castiel corrects, and Dean doesn’t have the wherewithal to explain to him why it wasn’t a compliment, especially when Cas’s grace expands, gradually filling out and stretching Dean’s hole, making him gasp and grind uselessly in his seat.  
  
"Harder," Dean grits out, exhales sharply when Cas complies, fucks in deep at the same time he cups Dean’s cock, ripples of formless touch convulsing around him, hot and unlike anything else.  
  
 _Dean,_ **_Dean_ , **comes Castiel’s voice, and yeah, Dean knows that tone.  
  
"You too, Cas?" Dean asks, rolling into Cas’s touch, riding out the constant, perfect stretch and fill of it. "Gettin’ off? Talk to me."  
  
 _Yes, I can feel it. Feel_ **you**.  
  
Dean groans, imagining Cas leaning up in a back ally somewhere, eyes closed and hips rocking as he fucks Dean from 250 miles away, whispering filth into every nook of Dean’s mind and damn well enjoying it.  
  
"Shit, Cas, c’mon, gonna make me come in my fucking pants?"  
  
 _Will you, Dean?_ Cas responds, and while he tries, he’s lost the haughty calm his voice had carried before, even just in Dean’s mind. _Will you come for me now, stay wet and sated until I come for you?_ he asks, and Dean has no idea if that means until Cas himself comes, or until he gets to the bunker.  
  
Not that it matters.  
  
"Yeah, Cas, fuck, _yes_ , c’mon, c’mon, fuck!” With a twist of grace and a flare of heat, Dean’s coming, soaking his boxers and clenching around Castiel’s grace, back arched as he struggles to stay seated while riding out the high of his orgasm.  
  
There’s a long moment where Dean breathes in silence, head lolled to the side as he gradually slides down from his high. He feels Castiel withdraw slowly, tendrils of grace stroking every inch of Dean’s skin, warm like a bare touch under his clothes, comforting. Dean smiles.  
  
"Should do that more often," he murmurs, and he feels Castiel hum of approval.  
  
 _Perhaps in person_ , Castiel suggests. Dean’s soft dick gives a valiant, near painful jerk at the mere though.  
  
"You better hurry your ass up here, then. I’m not gonna sit around in jizz-soaked boxers all night."  
  
 _Soon,_ Castiel promises, curling his grace tightly around Dean, like some kind of consuming, full-bodied embrace.  
  
"I’ll hold you to that," Dean says, drawing uneasy legs up to rest on the table. He’d try for the couch, but he’s pretty sure his legs wouldn’t get him that far just yet. He grins when he feels a warm press to his lips.  
  
Maybe he can manage to nap until Cas finally gets his ass in gear and comes home.


End file.
